


Somebody

by 35-leukothea (35_leukothea)



Category: Kingdom Hearts
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-03
Updated: 2015-09-03
Packaged: 2018-04-18 18:58:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4716896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/35_leukothea/pseuds/35-leukothea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Naminé contemplates existence.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Somebody

**Author's Note:**

> this was vent writing I finished in under an hour, and no, I am not having an existential crisis. I just love namine ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> read on tumblr [here](http://35-leukothea.tumblr.com/post/128227787217/unedited-feely-vent-writing-because-im-fucking).

Naminé was, primarily, lonesome.

She was other things too, of course—quiet, kind, artistic—but none of those other things seemed nearly as important or relevant as her loneliness. They were background noise, really, to what one might or might not call her individuality.

About once a day, Naminé had an argument with herself, and it was always the same. It progressed only slightly as she learned new things about herself or the world around her, but every day, she thought about it, and searched for an explanation to her peculiarity.

Anything with a functioning mind was an individual. Anything that could think and make decisions for itself was an individual. Wasn’t it? Was there another definition of the word that Naminé, in her short lifespan, had never heard of? No—she was sure she had it right. That made  _her_  an individual. Didn’t it? Her mind functioned quite well, she thought, like a real person’s. But Nobodies weren’t  _real people_. Were they?

Then she would sigh. Too many questions, too few answers.

Well, okay. She was an individual, because she was self-aware, but perhaps that was automatically nullified anyway, because she was a Nobody. That was fine. What did consistency matter, anyway? It didn’t do anything for her loneliness, the heavy, overbearing feeling of hollowness that hung in a black vacuum over her head her every waking hour. It seemed to stretch out to infinity in every direction—no matter what she tried, she couldn’t get herself out from under it.

_Lonesome_ , she thought, every day, until the word began to lose meaning.  _I feel alone._

She had often tried to identify why she felt so alone, but had only succeeded in imprisoning herself in an endless loop of haphazard guesswork, which was something she seemed to be good at. She tried starting at the beginning, with hard facts: loneliness was sadness, shortly put, sadness caused by a lack of friends, or any company at all. Well, that certainly applied. Didn’t it? Naminé had never really known a friend. Did Sora count? Did Roxas count? Riku? Or even his replica, for saving her? They had all left, though. She had no control group to compare herself to. So maybe she was lonely in that respect, but maybe she wasn’t.

Naminé was told she was unique sometimes, and she knew she was, too. She had no memories, a strange body, and an extraordinary, inexplicable ability that some, for lack of better words, described as witchery. Perhaps it was witchery. No control group. Were there many witches in the world? She didn’t know of any. She was indeed special— _too_  special, too individual. No one could relate to her, after all, not even the other Nobodies, whose existences actually made sense. Or was she not individual enough? Was this uniqueness really just a lack of self? Maybe she was a being completely void of psyche. Maybe there was too much Sora in her when she was really supposed to be Kairi, and there was no room left for Naminé.

_No, that can’t be right_ , she thought.  _I’m not like Sora or Kairi. I’m only like me._

When she said this to herself, she always believed it, because it was true. Nothing inherited from either of her human counterparts could replace what her own experiences had given her and shaped her into. She had her own identity, even if she wasn’t her own individual. All Nobodies were like that. Weren’t they?

Then she proceeded to wonder if anything she had just thought of made any sense at all.

Naminé liked drawing because she could do it with as little or as much concentration as she could manage. She could think while drawing; she could draw to avoid thinking. But her art had significance no matter how she had felt while making it. She drew places she’d seen, people she’d met, and thought to herself,  _They’re connections._  Connections to real places and real people, even if she was stuck here, locked away in her sterile white room for heavens knew how long. Even if she had never been to those places or had never really known those people. They were something different to look at, a slight change of pace, and maybe it was counterintuitive, but they made her feel less lonesome. She would stand up, then, and walk around the room, gazing at all the pictures in turn. She touched the stars and moon she’d colored, the spikes of Roxas’ hair, the leaves of the paopu tree—all images she had created for herself. She looked at Kairi, and the gaps where Naminé herself had taken her place, and felt, for once, like she was remembering.

“I am me,” she said softly. “Nobody else.”


End file.
